


red cloth

by bloodandpepper



Series: new paths to eden [8]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Patching Each Other Up, teenage assassins, this is about how Altair received his scar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandpepper/pseuds/bloodandpepper
Summary: Pushing Malik over its ledge clumsily, they tumbled into the padded interior with a grunt of pain from Malik’s side and a sigh of relief from his. The sun fell in narrow beams between the coverings, striping his lover’s tunic golden-white, as he laid on his back, gasping for air.This time it was Altaïr’s turn to unclasp the belt that sat snug around the other’s waist, and a half-groan, half-chuckle escaped Malik.‘I never thought I would say that, but, I’m not in the mood, Altaïr.’Sometimes, Altaïr was absolutely sure they shared one single intelligent thought and handed it around like one would a shisha pipe.
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Series: new paths to eden [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154309
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	red cloth

**Author's Note:**

> There's a metric ton of fics out there describing how Altair got his lip scar. I wanted to write my own.  
> I'm spamming the tag again, I'm sorry.

The sickening crunch of breaking bone reverberated through the air and Malik convulsed sideways, an arm pressed to his ribcage, a choked-off cry on his lips, while the guard lifted his sword to bring it down on him.

Time was crouching, elongated by Altaïr’s fear and the surrealism of the whole scene: Malik’s black eyes stared at the guard in complete incomprehension, as the blade shone above his head, catching the sunlight in mock innocence, waiting patiently to meet its target.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not at all, or at least not like this.

The decision to forego the order of retreat had been Altaïr’s alone - Malik wasn’t even supposed to be here – but that didn’t change the outcome.

An icy hand clawed at Altaïr’s throat ushering him forwards, breathless, but without a second thought. His short-sword parried the guard’s blade only barely, redirecting its course a tad to the side and upwards.

This time it was Altaïr who waited for the blade, for he predicted the arch it would take and leant backwards, but, simultaneously, he was absolutely sure that the momentum alone would never be enough to dive below its upswing. He waited for the blade to hit home, bracing for the pain that indeed found a home in his body a tiny moment later, tearing through his face and forcing him to his knees.

Blood pooled in his mouth, running down his chin to soak into the grey hem of his hood and he was sure that his own face must show the same picture of disconnection as Malik’s had only seconds before. Altaïr knew that the blade would return for him and was startled when the guard above him crumbled to the ground with a gurgle and blood welling past his lips, mirroring his own state. Only then took he notice of the throwing knife that protruded from the man’s throat. Malik’s aim had been precise even with broken ribs.

A sharp pull to the back of his hood tugged him back and he scrambled to his feet like newborn foal.

‘Move! Retreat, you fool!’ Malik’s voice was strained, but his hold to him insistent, steering them both back to the alley their companions had previously disappeared to. With a last glance up, Altaïr searched for their mark’s golden aura only to find it gone. Instead, a troupe of reinforcements made it to the scene, emanating a solid wall of scarlet hues.

This battle was lost, no matter how much Altaïr tried to turn it to their favor.

Turning on his axis, he let himself be dragged into the shadows while his own hold supported the other as they clambered up a ladder. Malik’s breath came in shaky gasps and he held to his side with cramped up fingers, while Altaïr’s own wound still oozed blood that left a treacherous trail behind, but they hurried on until they were sure that they’d shaken off their pursuers at least for the moment.

A patio framed by woodwork had to serve as an interim hideout and Malik shoved him into its farthest edge none too gently.

‘We have to stem the blood flow,’ he whispered. ‘You’re bleeding out like a sheep on market day.’

For a moment, Altaïr wondered why Malik loosened his belt with practiced ease and if his mouth would’ve been able to talk, he would’ve quipped something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood for sex’, but it dawned on him what the other had in mind, once he tugged free the crimson sash that adorned Altaïr’s robe and he had to silently smile upon his adolescent libido that reacted on any given opportunity.

Altaïr‘s cowl was brushed back next, revealing his face and the other’s gaze flickered over his features briefly. Feeling for the injury’s edge in a surprisingly tender gesture, Malik traced the cut that ran through Altaïr’s lips to gauge its depth. Altaïr couldn’t suppress a flinch and a gasp though.

‘That’s your very own fault, you moron,’ Malik said in a soft voice that contradicted his harsh words. ‘This will most likely scar.’

_Will you still love me if I’m ugly?_

The question burned on the tip of his tongue, but asking in this situation would worsen his state, so he swallowed it down.

‘You will still be the ‘pretty boy’ the others mock you for though, rest assured. I will also continue mocking you, pretty boy – scar or no scar.’

Smiling hurt, so Altaïr aborted this mission before it was able to progress any further. Leave it to Malik to know the important words when he needed them most.

‘Now I have the honor to tie your mouth shut,’ Malik continued undeterred and with a bright smile that almost split his face in completely different way than of what Altaïr suffered from. ‘And I’m sure you can imagine how often I’ve yearned to do this without a medical need calling for it.’

Snipping his fingers against Malik’s nose was an utterly childish move he didn’t regret one tiny bit and the other snatched them to plant a playful kiss upon his knuckles. Then he took the red cloth to fold it over the wound, passed it behind Altaïr’s neck and refolded it until the lower half of his face was covered by it. The grey journeyman hood was tugged over his head last and Malik looked at him in contentment.

‘Better. And the color hides the blood quite well.’ Rising with a groan, Malik gestured to him to get to his feet too. ‘We need a better hiding place, now that you don’t leave a trail of red behind.’

Altaïr graced his hand over Malik’s injured side to ask the question he couldn’t utter aloud.

_And what about you?_

‘Later, love. Later.’

Malik rarely used words of endearment, but when he did they were bound to leave an impact on Altaïr that surpassed all boundaries of teenage infatuation and made him all the more aware that he was in deep for this boy.

Again, they stumbled and half-dragged each other across Damascus’ rooftops, weary of archers that were still out there for them, until Altaïr spotted a roof-garden that would allow escape routes to all sides with the spectacular advantage that it lay close to the very city gate where their horses – and most likely their companions - waited for their return.

Pushing Malik over its ledge clumsily, they tumbled into the padded interior with a grunt of pain from Malik’s side and a sigh of relief from his. The sun fell in narrow beams between the coverings, striping his lover’s tunic golden-white, as he laid on his back, gasping for air.

This time it was Altaïr’s turn to unclasp the belt that sat snug around the other’s waist, and a half-groan, half-chuckle escaped Malik.

‘I never thought I would say that, but, I’m not in the mood, Altaïr.’

Sometimes, Altaïr was absolutely sure they shared one single intelligent thought and handed it around like one would a shisha pipe.

Deft finger supported Altaïr’s endeavor though in the end and together they peeled Malik out of layer after layer of fabric until the damage to his ribcage became visible.

‘Damn. It looks like it feels,’ commented Malik with sardonic detachment, but traced his fingers over the purple bruise nonetheless, feeling for the bones beneath. ‘Two are broken at least, I would say.’

Malik’s own red sash in hand, Altaïr hesitated for a moment, levelling the other with a gaze of whom he hoped would be able to transport the question he had to ask voiceless.

_Why did you follow me?_

‘Aw, come on, Altaïr. Don’t look at me like a kicked puppy. That’s not really your fault. You didn’t really expect me to let you run down your road to ruin alone. There aren’t a lot of people in the world able to hold you back, if you’ve set your mind onto something. I’m your impulse control after all.’

Smiling _still hurt_ , so Altaïr bit on his tongue and busied his hands by wrapping the red cloth around Malik’s injured midsection to support the broken ribs. Then he leant forward until their foreheads touched, savoring the other’s closeness. Kissing wasn’t an option, this had to be enough.

Malik pulled back after a moment and Altaïr was surprised by the mischief shining in his eyes. He didn’t see the snipping fingers coming until they made direct contact with his still exposed nose: only a soft, little nudge to get the message through.

‘Sap. Romantic sap.’

_One of us has to be._

Malik struggled to put on his robe again, so he lent a hand until the other was more or less presentable again.

‘Now tell me of your plan how to get us both out of the city incognito.’

All in all, this was indeed a good question, even though it was one he hadn’t spared a single thought on. Maybe Malik still possessed his part of their shared intelligence.

‘Or are your scholar friends still an option?’

Malik definitely did.

Maybe his eager nodding came across a tad overenthusiastic giving way his initial cluelessness, but Altaïr knew that Malik would’ve been able to see through him nonetheless. Reclining against the garden’s wooden fencing, Malik heaved a shaky sigh.

‘Okay, sounds like a plan. Just give me a moment.’

_All the time in the world, if you need it._

Molding himself against Malik’s uninjured side, Altaïr thought about their childish antics and how they always ended on top of them despite the warning signs.

He thought of his own bullheadedness, his road to ruin that had pulled his lover in. Thought about how Malik was his voice of reason, his shadow of doubt when he needed it most.

He had to make wiser decisions from now on, for he hated to see his lover involved in his mistakes.

Yes, he would learn, Altaïr vowed to himself, as his hand graced over the red cloth that covered his mouth.

_Yes, I will learn._

**Author's Note:**

> ...foreshadowing...


End file.
